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fraink5-writes · 6 years

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Human Qualification- Chapter 1

June 13

Merry Christmas! This fic is a gift to @leio13 for always supporting and encouraging me. Without you, I wouldn’t have made it this far. Thank you.

Additionally, a huge thank you to @missmizpah for beta-reading! You rock even if you don’t like commas!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This fic can also be found on ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

“I’ve always wanted to die anyway.”

Unable to move, Dazai lay helpless on the ground, watching the death surrounding him. Chuuya glared impatiently as he threw another body to the ground. Blood ran down his arm—was it his or his enemies? Ultimately, he said nothing to Dazai, sparing him only one last indignant look. It was impressive how easily Chuuya moved through the horde of adversaries despite his wounds. His body, so fluid and swift, was a paintbrush, splashing rufescent color across the landscape. If nothing else—even when his own body gave up—Dazai was certain he could depend on Chuuya’s strength.

This mission was supposed to be a quick one. It was an ordinary—no, an exceptionally easy mission. They were to infiltrate a business on the black market and grab a memory stick with information “critical to the Mafia’s functioning,” which Dazai suspected was dirt on other members of the underground. While Dazai scoffed at Mori’s over-evaluation of the information, he could fundamentally understand its merit. After all, he was essentially raised by the scheming head of the Port Mafia.

Another thought that Dazai and Mori shared was that the current mission would be a simple one. There were only 20 or so opponents, and Mori had given permission for Dazai and Chuuya to eliminate all of them. On an okay day, this was an easy task for the infamous Double Black. With a simple strategy and their combined strength and abilities, the enemies didn’t stand even a slight chance—to hint at a possibility of their victory would be cruel to them. That day should have been no different.

Yet it was.

Dazai’s body had betrayed him. Even when completing the most basic tasks, his body weighted down uselessly. Dazai’s arms were weaker, compounding the burden. This was not a sudden development. In fact, Dazai had noted it at the beginning of the month, but he paid it minimal attention. He had managed just fine, minus a bit of fatigue here and there. And so, that afternoon, when devising his plans, he chose to ignore it. But his expectations deluded him. When the fighting began, it became immediately apparent that his weakened body was not cut out for confrontation.

Watching Chuuya polish off the last of his opponents, millions of different plans and potential outcomes flashed through Dazai’s mind, but he wasn’t optimistic enough to challenge the flow of events (which just happened to be favorable due to Chuuya’s intervention). Instead he resigned himself to his failure and his fatigue, letting his mind vacillate between fuzzy shades of gray and black.

“Oi!” The sharp tone knocked Dazai from his haze. Menacing teeth, piercing blue eyes, an asymmetrical mop of orangey hair, bloody wounds decorating his body—the man towering over Dazai was certainly Chuuya. “Get the fuck up!” He barked. He turned away, presumably repulsed by the sight of Dazai’s weakness.

With one hand on either side of his body, Dazai pressed on the ground, but it didn’t budge, nor did his body. Pathetically, he rolled over onto his side with a soft groan. He couldn’t the number of injuries he had. In his daze, they were dull—practically non-existent—but as he struggled in the dirt, they woke up, sparking pain throughout his limbs. Once again he pushed; this time, he managed to raise himself to a sitting position. He could barely keep his head afloat on his shoulders; lifting the rest of his body was unthinkable.

Tapping his foot into the ground, Chuuya eventually condescended to look at Dazai, his pointed glare dulling with weariness. He sighed and threw his head back as if looking for a higher power to spare him of his burden. But no relief ever came, so Chuuya bent down and lifted Dazai from the ground. Harshly throwing his partner over his shoulder, the silent message he sent Dazai swore of revenge. Too exhausted to pay the warning any heed, Dazai lazily dropped his head on Chuuya’s shoulder, provoking a groan in response (which Dazai also ignored).

Silently, the two patients dredged down the streets, Dazai like a zombie in his half-asleep state. He wondered thoughtlessly about how the two of them appeared—weary, draped over each other, blood dripping—luckily it was late enough that there weren’t many people on the streets. Chuuya didn’t say a word, but a muted irritation radiated from his body. Much to Dazai’s relief, the redhead’s exhaustion prevented him from raising a grand objection. However, Chuuya’s fatigue paled in comparison to Dazai’s, who wasn’t even aware of (nor cared about) his own whereabouts until he was right outside his own apartment door.

Dazai couldn’t even react before Chuuya pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. It was a miserable side effect of their partnership. He dragged Dazai to his living room couch and negligently ditched him there. “I’m going to use some of your bandages since you hoard them.” With that, Chuuya casually wandered into Dazai’s bathroom—another thing which would have bothered Dazai, had he been in his right mind. Upon his partner’s return, Dazai was still lying on the couch exactly the way Chuuya left him. Chuuya shrugged, perhaps disappointed, and continued to the exit. At the door, however, he hesitated. He inspected Dazai’s lifeless form for an extensive period of time before sighing, “What is with you today?”

“I can’t move,” Dazai half murmured into the couch.

“Haha,” Chuuya laughed dryly, but his stare grew increasingly more worried. Finally, he trudged towards Dazai and helped him from the couch and into the bathroom. “Only this once… because we’re partners.”

Dazai smiled weakly. If he was feeling up to his usual self, it would have been a teasing grin, yet, due to his current state, it was genuine (as much as Dazai hated to be helped by his insufferable partner). He sat on the toilet and slowly peeled off his sticky clothes and soiled bandages.

Chuuya shook his head, disappointed. “You’re going to need to rinse off before we proceed. There’s too much blood.” He paused, “You can do that, right?”

Dazai stood up wearily and nodded. If he couldn’t take a shower, his demise was rapidly approaching. Chuuya grabbed a roll of bandages and left the room (presumably to bandage himself in the meanwhile).

Under the sharp rainfall from the showerhead, Dazai’s whole body stung.. He examined himself, looking for noticeable differences. Aside from the copious wounds (which, frankly, weren’t too unusual for Dazai), there were no glaring changes in his body. Perhaps he had lost a bit of weight, but it was nothing which couldn’t be explained by typical fluctuation.

Cautiously, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself with expendable rags (he was still bleeding all over). The biting water had lifted a bit of his fatigue, but he was still extremely incompetent.

Having heard the water stop, Chuuya knocked on the door and hesitantly entered. “Shit,” was his first remark. “I was hoping it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“Nope.”

“Fucking hell. What the fuck were you doing today?”

“Well, you saw.”

“Yeah, I saw—I saw you give up almost immediately. What happened to the plan, asshole?!”

“I couldn’t go through with the plan… Sorry.” It was a statement of pity directed mainly at himself.

“‘Sorry.’” Chuuya sneered. “What’s going on? What was that—what is this all about?!”

“You won’t believe me, even if I told you.”

“Because you’re never fucking honest!” Chuuya’s tone dropped. “Just tell me already. I’m your partner. If this is going to affect the way things work, I need to know.”

“I’m going to die soon.”

Silence settled into the room along with the steam. Neither Chuuya nor Dazai could think of the appropriate words to say. Dazai breathed in the silence, hoping it would suffocate him. Meanwhile, Chuuya continued to work rhythmically, his spideresque fingers coiling bandages around Dazai’s arm.

“I have only a few months. No longer than two years.”

“Stop fucking around.” Chuuya’s fingers came to a halt.

“I’m not fucking around. This is the inevitable consequence of my ability.”

Chuuya eyed him keenly, searching for traces of dishonesty, but he found none. His blue eyes were tinged a shade darker with pity. Dazai found Chuuya’s raw, human sympathy (even for his loathed partner) admirable.

“It’s the downside of my ability—every ability has one—the gradual degeneration of my body. To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’”

Chuuya stared up at Dazai in terrified awe.

“I knew I was going to die young,” Dazai continued, “but even I didn’t think it would be this early.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve always wanted to die, anyway.”

Chuuya was stunned to silence as he began slowly working again. Carefully, he dressed Dazai’s wounds, applying soft pressure. The tender message of Chuuya’s busy fingers eased the tension in Dazai’s body. Superficially, Dazai was fully treated, but within him, there was a growing wound which Chuuya could never patch up.

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#Bungou Stray Dogs #Soukoku #Human Qualification #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #Angst

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